The End of the Ghost's Love Story
by Elphabean
Summary: It seemed unbelievable a sixteen year old, deciding life or death for hundreds of Parisians. And more importantly to me in that moment, I was chosing my own fate.


Disclaimer: I do not own Phantom. Gaston Leroux, Andrew Lloyd Webber, and Susan Kay do. I can only dream.

A/N: I wrote this story last year, as the final exam for my Creative Writing class. We had to re-write the end of one of the books we had read, and I chose Phantom. You will have to excuse the fact that it is not that wonderful; I was incredibly stressed, with exams and the death of my best friend. I would appreciate any feedback that you have.

"If, in two minutes, mademoiselle, you have not turned the scorpion, I shall turn the grasshopper," Erik said.

I stood in silence before the biggest decision I was certain I would ever make. It seemed unbelievable – a sixteen-year-old ballet rat turned diva, deciding life or death for hundreds of Parisians. And even more importantly to me in that moment, I was choosing my own fate.

There are so many sides to Erik. He had answered my prayer, when I was a girl who dreamed of the Angel of Music my father had promised me. Every day, I could feel his presence with me, no matter where I was within the Opera House. Before our lessons, he would always ask how my day went, and I would tell him how the other girls in ballet had laughed at my mistakes, and he would console me with a lullaby. He has always had unconditional devotion, and dare I say love, when it comes to me.

Do I have the right to judge him, even if he has murdered in the past? Even though he is threatening to blow up the entire Opera on this night? Other people have driven him to be this way, I know. His own mother could not look upon him with love! The world has shown my poor, unhappy Erik no compassion. I heard that he grew up as an attraction in a traveling fair, a "freak show." He killed Monsieur Bouquet because he spread too many stories about him; all of which were untrue.

I know hat he is the reason for all my success. Without his strict mannerisms in teaching, I would not have had the chance to sing the lead of Marguerite in Faust, my breakthrough performance. I also think that things might have been different, had I not taken the place of La Carlotta that fateful evening. There is not a single person, besides Erik and Meg, who would have noticed me. The most influential of all the people who witnessed my "great triumph" that night were Raoul de Chagny, and the two managers, Moncharmin and Richard.

I loved Erik, as a friend and mentor, possibly more. I felt betrayed when he revealed himself as a man, and in turn I betrayed him. When I removed his mask his face, though not the most pleasant sight to behold, was nothing compared to his frightening anger. He took my hands and dug them into his face, insisting I thought it was another mask. I had his blood and flesh beneath my fingernails, and have never felt so disgusted with myself.

When he set me free, I sought out comfort from my oldest friend, Raoul. He gave me the feeling of comfort and protection that I had been looking for. I told him everything about Erik, after the crash of the chandelier. I swore I heard his voice, calling out to me on the roof of the Opera that night.

The accusations Raoul made echoed in my mind. 'You love him! Your fear, your terror, all of that is just love, and love of the most exquisite kind, the kind which people do not even admit to themselves,' he had said bitterly.

I knew in my heart that I was making the right decision, and not only for me, but for my Angel of Music, my friend, the man that I loved so deeply in my heart that I could not even admit it to myself…

"I have turned the scorpion, Erik!" I cried, my eyes brimming with tears waiting to be released. I watched as he turned toward me, trembling, with disbelief written all across his face. "I choose you," I whispered.

I heard Raoul let out an anguished cry and nearly collapsed to the floor with the weight of it all. I would never see him again. This was the sacrifice I made to be with the one person who had and would always love me.

I knew that the Persian was also in complete doubt, because only minutes ago he had warned me against turning either. I could hear a small sigh, as though he were preparing for the worst, the explosion Erik had promised before. 'Don't touch the scorpion!' he had cried through the wall.

I pleaded with Erik, and finally he opened the door to the torture chamber and retrieved the Persian and Raoul, neither of whom was in favorable conditions.

"My dear, I must ask that you stay here and attend to our guests. I will be back shortly, but there are things that need to be attended to." Erik said, lingering as though he wanted to reach out and touch my face, but had decided against it.

He smiled sadly and turned, throwing on the black cloak I knew so well and walking briskly through the door. I turned back to the drained men sitting upon the couch, and curtsied gracefully.

"If you would be so kind as to excuse me for but a moment, I will fetch you both tea." I scurried from the sitting room without further explanation, and into the kitchen to gather up the necessary materials.

I bustled around the spacious area, fixing two cups of steaming tea, and then arranged them with tiny pieces of baguettes (bread) on a tray, in case they were hungry as well.

Carefully, I carried the rather heavy tray back into the room where my dear friend and his companion sat. "I daresay you must be tired, but do appease me and at least try a bit of food?" I helped by handing them each a cup and waiting patiently as they drained them, leaving only the dregs.

I felt the eyes of the weary Persian upon me, and glanced at him curiously. This is the man Erik had called Daroga, the one who had advised me against trusting him; the same man who had called out to Erik, and asked him to kindly remember how he had saved his life back in Mazenderan. I suspected that the two were close in some way, at least at one point in time. There were so many questions I needed answers to, but they would wait.

"Little Lotte," Raoul said hoarsely, and setting his empty cup upon the tray, he reached across the table, taking my hands in his. "Are you sure this is what you want?" His green eyes searched mine, seeking an honest answer.

"I do not know how I can say this without hurting you, Raoul, but it is everything I want." My voice trembled, and tears pricked at my eyes, threatening to fall once more.

Raoul reached up to brush away the single tear that drifted silently down my cheek with a thumb, and then stroked my cheek gently. I closed my eyes at the familiar touch, and smiled sadly. "I will miss you, Little Lotte," he whispered.

"And I you, my dear friend," I replied, folding my hands in my lap and glancing down at them, avoiding eye contact with the gentlemen seated across from me.

"Does he love you as I do, Christine? Will he care for you?" Raoul asked, somewhat hesitantly it seemed.

I nodded. "He always has, Raoul." I lapsed into silence, thinking back on my most fond memories. None of us spoke again for quite some time.

"Mademoiselle?" the Persian said suddenly. I had been reading to pass the time, as Raoul had fallen asleep, but my head snapped up automatically. "Why would you choose to stay with Erik, after all he has put you through?"

I sighed, closing my book and sitting up to full posture, my chin raised. "Because, Monsieur, Erik may have acted out tonight, but he has been there for me so much longer. When my father died, he sheltered me, and taught me how to become something I had never dreamed possible."

"Then you love him for what he has helped you to become?" the Persian asked.

"Not at all, Monsieur, though I greatly admire him for having faith in me when I had given up all hope. I know that he is absolutely, without a doubt, the smartest person I have ever known. I have seen behind the mask, and know a brief amount of his history. The world does not give Erik nearly enough credit. He is an extraordinary person if you allow him a chance."

"I must thank you, my dear, for your sentiments," Erik said, his beautiful voice barely audible. I smiled and turned to him, surprised to see someone else standing behind him.

"Forgive me," Erik muttered, stepping aside to allow the second man entrance. "Darius, may I present my betrothed, Mademoiselle Christine Daae."

I rose gracefully and walked over to stand beside Erik. The man bowed formally, and I inclined my head, too tired to curtsey. "It is a pleasure to meet you, Monsieur."

"Christine, Darius is the manservant of our dear Daroga, to whom you have been catering and entertaining this evening. He is here to take our guests home," Erik continued. He must have noticed the fear in my eyes, for he smiled and spoke gently. "I promise I would never lie to you. Darius is an honorable man with whom I have been in acquaintance with for quite some time, and I assure you that you may trust the life of your friend to him."

I sighed shakily, unaware that I had been holding my breath in. The Persian had managed to wake Raoul, who was now staring at all of us in turn. "What is going on?" he asked.

"You have to leave," I replied quietly, more to the ground or myself than anyone else. He quickly stood and embraced me, holding me safe in his arms. "If you ever need anything, I am here for you, Little Lotte," he whispered into my hair.

"I do not think that I shall need assistance in the future. Thank you, in any case… and take care of yourself." I smiled into his shoulder, trying not to lose my composure in front of all our guests. I could feel all eyes on me as I stepped back and twisted the band of the ring Raoul had given to me, until it slipped off my finger. Gently, I grasped his hand, and set the jewelry in his palm, closing his hand.

"Promise me," I said, breathing deeply, trying to find the words to say. "Promise that you will find someone who cares as deeply for you as I do, but someone who deserves your love, and all you have to offer. You will always be in my heart, as the brave little boy from the seashore."

He brushed a strand of hair from my face, and lifted my chin with one finger. "Oh, Christine…" he sighed. "I promise that I will try, if you promise me in return that you will find nothing but happiness in the years to come."

I let out a shaky laugh, and nodded. "I promise," I whispered. I bid the Persian and Darius good-bye, and the three men parted our company.

Erik turned and took me in his arms, pressing a kiss against my forehead. Since that last moment of saying goodbye to our respective friends (Erik the Persian and Darius, myself to Raoul), neither of us had talked much. There had been an extended period of silence, for there were no words that could be spoken to describe how either of us felt at the time, I am sure.

"Christine, _mon belle ange_, I love you," Erik whispered, pulling me closer. 'My beautiful angel,' he called me. I smiled up at him with tears in my eyes, for what could you say to something like this?

I reached up and gently grasped both of his cheeks, masked and smooth skin, and kissed him in return. He seemed surprised at first, unsure of how to react. And then, his arms closed about my back, and he returned the kiss.

"Do not cry," he whispered, gently wiping the tears from my face, his touch light as a feather; he had always handled me as though I were made of porcelain, fragile and breakable. I knew he had great respect and fear of me, and this was his way of showing he cared.

He then went on to inform me that I had been scheduled to perform the lead in the opera the next night, _Romeo et Juliette_, in the last performance of this season. The music was composed by Charles Gounod a short three years ago, and turned into an operatic piece by Jules Barbier. I learned all of this from Erik, of course. The only thing I know of this particular work is the tragic romance; I can remember when I first came here, Meg and I were reading Shakespeare's greatest story at the same time.

I studied the score and rehearsed the songs with Erik, and then he took me back to my dressing room to rest for the performance. I wanted to run into the ballet dormitories and talk to Meg, but I knew that would have been a foolish choice. Just before Erik left, he turned around and looked directly into my eyes.

"You will make a stunning Juliet tonight. I shall watch from my normal seat in box five, and meet you here directly after. Do not allow anyone into this room." I nodded, and he disappeared into the mirror.

I happily set about preparing for bed, and fell into a deep slumber within a matter of minutes. In the morning, I awoke to a rather loud, anxious-sounding knock on my door.

Quickly I rose and crossed the room, opening the door only slightly to glance into the sunlight hall. "Christine! Where have you been?" Meg cried, walking into the room and shutting the door behind her. "I have been so worried…you disappeared last night, and no one had seen you since…" Meg threw her arms around my neck in a hug, and I laughed, returning it, honestly surprised she had noticed my absence.

"Well, as you can see, I am quite fine. I am sincerely sorry for worrying you so; I do hope you will accept my apology?" I twisted my hands nervously.

"Of course I forgive you, Christine! Though, you must hurry and change, for rehearsals started approximately one hour ago. The managers want a perfect closing to the season, and if you are not there they will hand your role back to La Carlotta." Meg hurried about the room, finding an outfit appropriate to wear to rehearsals, and helping me to prepare.

By the time we raced downstairs to the stage area, rehearsals were obviously well underway, into the end of the first act. My face turned pale as I approached the stage, my first time facing the rest of the cast after my mysterious absence and gaining the lead. I took a deep breath to steady myself and walked out to Madame Giry confidently.

"Christine Daae!" shrieked La Carlotta, pointing an accusing finger in my direction the moment she laid eyes on me.

"I am sorry for my tardiness," I said, ashamed with myself for waking so late in the morning. "I felt under the weather, and was in bed most of the morning."

Monsieur Lefevre sighed and motioned for me to take my place on stage. "Very well then, Mademoiselle, shall we start with the balcony scene from Act II?"

The costume maid pulled the strings of my corset too tightly, I fear. I can scarcely breathe, let alone think! On my dressing room vanity, I found a long-stemmed red rose, a note nearby, which lightened my mood considerably.

'Ma Petite Christine,

I shall meet you as planned after the Opera this evening, and we shall reach the countryside by nightfall. You shall by the week's end have all you could ever want for, this I promise you. Be sure to have collected all of your belongings, for there is little chance of us returning here soon. This will be your last night on stage at this Opera House; make it a performance that will not soon be forgotten. Remember your breathing exercises, and do not fret. You will do beautifully, as always.

Yours truly, Erik'

I approached the balcony, glancing first down at my Romeo, a sweet tenor named Jean-Paul, and then out across the audience. I scanned the theatre for familiar faces, spotting many friends of Raoul. My eyes chose to focus instead on box five, where a dimly lit figure I knew dressed in his best black evening wear sat watching. The thought of his amber eyes, constantly casting calculating looks down at us, filled my mind. He criticized the stage performance overall, not just for me. It did, however, teach me to be prepared. I carefully sang my part with respective emotion and depth, making sure each note and step were perfectly in tune.

How beautiful and tragic, the love story of Romeo and Juliet. Brought together by a family masquerade ball (which the friends of Romeo had decided to crash), and torn apart by the same families and their centuries old fight, which happened to be pointless.

Star-crossed lovers, the theme of one of the most popular stories of all time, is that not ironic in some sort of way? That so many of us are intrigued by the 'innocent love' of two teenagers who knew each other for but a few short days, and in that time met, were married, and killed themselves, all in the 'name of love.' It just does not make sense, and yet no matter how long I think back on the subject, I am still drawn to the story.

"Leve-toi, soleil!" Jean-Paul called, in essence meaning that Romeo was referring to Juliet as the rising sun. Just as I walked to the edge of the balcony, leaning forward on my hands to answer him, I felt short of breath due to the corset. Suddenly, my world was fading to black.

"Christine," the voice of a concerned man cut through the barriers that had been blocking my mind. I shifted and opened my eyes, startled by the fact that Erik sat beside my bed.

"What happened? I can remember a fall, and someone calling my name. Then everything went dark," I said, frantic.

"You are lucky, my dear, that Jean-Paul was there beneath the balcony to catch you. The stage hands had dimmed the lights, so that if there was an accident, no one would see."

My breath came out in unsteady measures, as my mind considered how very close to death I had been. "And the show?" I asked.

"Postponed, and to be performed with La Carlotta in the lead. If you are feeling well, you may secure your most precious items, and we may leave tonight." Erik's amber eyes seemed to see through to my very soul, and it made me weary.

"Christine… I know that I may have asked this in the past, but I must do so again, properly." He gently grasped my hands and helped me out of bed. I gasped in surprise when he pulled a box from his pocket. "Long ago, I agreed to train your angelic voice, never suspecting that I would come to care so much for the beautiful woman behind it. You are my only reason for staying here. Christine… will you marry me?"

I stared in awe and admiration of the man before me, who had changed so much since our first encounter in the chapel, so very long ago. _Nothing but happiness_, the final words Raoul had spoken to me echoed in my head. And I had never felt more joyous than in that moment. I threw my arms around his neck and rested my cheek against the soft velvet cloak he always wore. "Yes," I replied breathlessly.

He smiled down at me with tears in his yellow eyes, reflecting his love for me. I pulled off the mask. "No more unnecessary barriers shall stand between us," I whispered, kissing his uneven flesh, my heart bursting with love.

"Christine… I love you," he sang softly. This is the bittersweet ending to what is sure to be a beautiful beginning, for both of us, facing the rest of our lives together, as was meant to be.


End file.
